


hate is a very strong word (and it’s usually not the one we really mean)

by mermistia



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Crying, Emotional Hurt, F/F, Love/Hate, catra girl u REALLY have to stop hurting adora, this isn’t... too graphic adora just bleeds a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-15 01:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21245474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermistia/pseuds/mermistia
Summary: Adora can’t bring herself to hate Catra, no matter how hard she tries.





	hate is a very strong word (and it’s usually not the one we really mean)

**Author's Note:**

> written w/ the sentence prompt “i wish i could hate you half as much as i hate myself”

It hurts. 

It _hurts,_ the sword against her back hurts so badly, and She-Ra screams out with the pain. Her lips spit out blood around the words, and she blinks through tears as strands of her hair fall into her eyes. 

She doesn’t know who’s pressing the weapon to her body, but she knows who sent them. 

Catra. 

It’s always Catra. 

It’s always _fucking_ Catra, isn’t it?

Whenever Adora’s biting back pain, holding back a scream, gripping her fingers into the ground so hard that her whole body shakes with the sickening agony of holding on, of caring, of wanting to make things better, Catra is _always there._

And Adora hates it, but she loves it too. 

Catra still cares. In a bad way, of course. But it’s still _something._ Surely it’s worth _something._ It has to be. 

The sword against her back moves, cold metal cutting through her shirt and making her skin sting as it soaks through with blood. She turns, a glance over her shoulder through blurred eyes to see her attacker. It’s just a Horde soldier. Nameless, faceless, useless, and She-Ra throws them off of her with ease, scrambling to her feet as they crash down in the mud. 

She has to find Catra. She knows that Catra’s here somewhere. 

She has to be. 

She always is. 

A flash of light brings She-Ra’s sword to her arm, and she holds it up against her as she runs, the sound of bullets hitting it ringing in her ears. She’s always hated that sound. War and death and bullets and crashes in her head that she can’t control. It’s so loud and terrifying and continuous, and so scarily _unstoppable,_ and she hates every single part of it. 

She’s never wanted this. 

She just wants _control,_ that’s all she’s ever wanted, even when she was back in the Horde. Control and safety and Catra by her side through it all, and now she has none of that, and it’s all slipped through her fingers and dropped to the ground and rolled away and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever find it again. 

She can try, though.

There’s still something she can find. 

_Catra._

Adora skids over the floors as she makes it into the castle, her shield already back to being a bracelet as she palms the wall and turns another corner, her feet pounding furiously as blood rushes through her head. Everything seems to be in some sort of blur. She barely registers it as guards run past her, as glittering sparkles of Glimmer teleporting through the castle dance through her vision, as the walls around her start to crack under the gunfire from outside. 

One more corner, the doors to Glimmer’s bedroom thrown open, and she’s there. 

Everything is a mess. 

There’s clothes on the floor, glass littering every surface, the curtains are torn and there’s Catra, lounging on the bed hanging from the ceiling, her face upside down as she regards Adora with glittering eyes that don’t match her bored expression. 

“Hey, Adora. You look tired.” It’s teasing, a little smug, and Adora resists the urge to climb up to her and spit in her face. 

“I look fine,” she hisses out through gritted teeth, and shakes her head to push her hair away from her eyes. 

“No, you look exhausted.” Catra rolls over, propping her head on her hands and sticking her bottom lip out in a fake pout that doesn’t hide the amusement in her voice. “Are you sure you’re getting enough sleep? These Bright Moon beds are so different from the ones at home, aren’t they? Fit for a princess...”

“Enough games, Catra.” She-Ra’s sword is in her hands in seconds, and she swings it up to point the tip of the blade at Catra’s face, ignoring the raised eyebrows that she gets in response. “Why are you here?”

“Why are _you_ here?”

Adora blinks, the sword in her hand shaking for a moment before she replies. “I live here.”

Catra snorts out a laugh, biting her lip as she grins, and Adora’s eyes follow her as she drops to the floor and lands in a crouch, straightening up again almost immediately. Her arms cross over her chest and she stands with her hip jutted out, her head tilted to the side, the expression on her face shining with amusement that almost fully hides the seething anger underneath. “Yeah, I know. You live in a _palace._ You’re friends with _princesses._ I’ve heard the story.”

“Then let me give it a happy ending.” Adora lowers her sword. Her hand reaches out to Catra, so close, so gentle, until she hisses in pain when Catra claws at it, leaving deep cuts in the skin. Blood springs to the surface, dropping onto the floor and staining one of Glimmer’s dresses that lies at her feet. “Catra, please.”

“You don’t get to choose how this story ends. This is _my_ choice. You don’t have any control here, _She-Ra._ Catra’s voice drops to a hiss, low and guttural and full of anger so hot that it almost burns. 

“Please,” Adora says again, and she lets out a breath that she didn’t realise she’d been holding when Catra rushes at her, pushing her backwards until her back hits the wall with a sickening crack. The sword drops from her hand, clattering against the floor, and she tilts her head to the side to avoid a lantern as it falls from the ceiling, shattering at her feet and sending shards of glass bouncing over Catra’s feet. “Catra!”

“_What?_” A snarl sounds in Catra’s throat, and she presses her claws hard against Adora’s throat, scratching light pink marks on the skin. “Am I making you _mad,_ princess? Am I upsetting you? Am I hurting you? How sad.” Another fake pout takes over Catra’s lips before she smiles, bright and happy and full of malice. “Good.” 

Adora screams. 

Blood pours from her throat, dripping down her neck, soaking through her shirt. 

Pain rips through her body, shaking her hands and sending her falling to her knees. 

And Catra laughs above her, shaking her hands to let drops of blood fall from them, gazing down at her with a smile. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

Adora doesn’t answer. She can’t, she _can’t,_ it hurts too much, so she just clutches at her neck instead, pressing her fingers against it and trying her best to ignore the blood that’s washing over her hands and arms, pouring from her much too fast, much too much. 

“Hate me yet?” There’s a tinge of sadness in Catra’s voice, some slight desperation, and she bends down so that she’s on eye level with Adora, keeping unbreakable eye contact. “Do you hate me, Adora?”

It hurts every single part of her to speak, but Adora knows that she has to. She pulls her hands away from her throat, letting the blood drip, and lets excruciatingly painful words fall from her mouth. “I wish I could hate you.” Her voice is barely a sound, just a hoarse whisper that she wishes she could turn into a scream. “I wish I could hate you even half as much as I hate myself, but I _can’t,_ Catra. I still miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Catra says. Her voice softens for a second, almost full of regret, until she straightens up and wipes her claws on her shirt, leaving trails of red over the collar. She looks away, refusing to make eye contact, staring down at the floor resolutely, a million questions on her tongue. 

_You have everything._

_You’re a princess._

_How could you hate yourself?_

_How can you not hate me?_

“I really do miss you, Adora.” It’s sweet. Loving. Almost kind. Catra spits. “I’ll get over it.”

“No!” Adora’s voice cracks around the word, and she scrambles forwards before falling back, tears welling in her eyes. She watches, crying, crying, crying as Catra saunters to the doorway, tossing her hair over her shoulder. 

_Please don’t go._

She wants to say it, to cling to Catra’s hand and ask for help, ask for Catra to _please help, help me, don’t leave me here bleeding, Catra, I need you, I love you, please!_ but the words don’t sound, and she brings her hands to her throat once again as she falls back against the wall, her head swimming too much for her to keep kneeling. 

Catra pauses. “No? No, I shouldn’t leave?” She turns, slowly and carefully, walking back into the room, and Adora winces at the anger on her face. “See, that’s the problem with you, Adora.” Catra’s close now, so close that Adora can feel her breath on her face, can feel Catra’s hair tickling her cheek, can see every shade of gold and sapphire reflected in Catra’s eyes. “You may not hate me, but oh my God- oh my _God,_ do I hate you.”

Adora blinks. 

She blinks, and suddenly Catra’s gone, the only trace of her being the destruction of Glimmer’s room, and Adora screams. Her head thumps back against the wall painfully but she barely even feels it, her only focus the dull ache in her throat and the searing pain in her heart. 

Catra’s _gone,_ and Adora doesn’t even know why she came, what she took, where she is now, or _how to get her back._

Catra’s _gone._

_I hate you._

_I hate you, Adora._

She doesn’t want to believe it. A part of her _can’t_ believe it. They had so much. They were all soft touches and warm beds and happy smiles and it’s gone forever and she can’t get it back and here she is now, bleeding out on the floor with memories that kill and a voice that barely works. 

Her head is still spinning. 

She feels the transformation wash away from her, yellow hair fading back into blonde, golden armour fading into a red jacket, stained even darker with blood. 

She’s vaguely aware of voices outside the door, running down the corridors, a mix of fear and concern. Glimmer, Bow, Angella, Castaspella.

Her head spins a little more, blood still warm against her hands, and the feeling sends a pang of sickness right through her body. 

Adora falls. She slides down the wall, and she’s asleep before her back hits the floor; tired and unconscious, so close to being gone. So much hope shattered. So much blood lost. So many injuries she can’t come back from. 

A bubble of blood pops in the corner of her mouth, her hand twitches, and her eyelids flutter, just a little. 

That’s her last movement. 

She’s gone. 

She dreams of Catra. 

It’s a dream she doesn’t wake up from.

**Author's Note:**

> adora: *is over telling catra that she misses her and isn’t going to ask her to come with her anymore, has grown as a person and is learning not to let her past define her and that she is not responsible for the actions of others*
> 
> me, a slut for angst: haha UNLESS............ 👀


End file.
